


Fragments (Marvel)

by ellewrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant Violence, Depression, F/M, Implied Torture, M/M, Post-Mission, Sappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles (which to me means each piece is less than 1500k words) that I had originally posted to my tumblr. Updated infrequently, chapters have no relation to one another. Tags will update as work is added. Various pairings. Limited proof-reading. </p><p>Update: Chapters 8 & 9 added</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Main Chapter Pairings:
> 
> 1\. Hurt (N/A)  
> 2\. Comfort (Tony/Bruce)  
> 3\. Help (Tony/Bruce)  
> 4\. Stars (Tony/Bruce)  
> 5\. Over (Tony/Bruce)  
> 6\. Scars (Clint/Natasha)  
> 7\. Dependents (Clint/Natasha)  
> 8\. Choice (Bruce/Betty)  
> 9\. Bedsharing (Steve/Bucky)

Water beat down against the tile so loud in the tight space of the shower when Bruce closed his eyes it sounded like the beating of a thousand drums, louder and louder and overwhelming him. The steam was suffocating, he could hardly breathe, it was like suffocating slowly but his whole life was suffocating slowly.

Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t he stop the pounding pounding pounding in his head? Why couldn’t he just accept the things in his life – love those things honesty?

Fuck. Breathe.

His own breath sounded entirely too loud within the protective shell he created for himself within his arms, head surrounded by them, forehead on his knees as the water beat down upon his back, saturated his hair, rolled across his eyes – squeezed shut tight.

God – FUCK. The water was hot. The tile was smooth and nice and clean. He had a bed waiting for him that had a full, comfortable mattress and soft sheets and and –

Bruce’s arms trembled as he tried to regain some control over the slamming of his heart against his ribs.

It was easy now – so why was it so hard? If he could just get out of this shower he would…

He would have breakfast with Natasha, tea and toast. And she wouldn’t really say anything and he wouldn’t have to. But she would stand at the counter and sway her hips to the side as she poured herself another cup and she would hum a little as she steeped the tea and it reminded him of his mother and it was nice. It was nice.

Then he would go to his lab – _his lab_ – and work for a while, listening to a playlist with all of his favorite songs in a leather chair that was probably more expensive than any car he’d ever owned surrounded by customized computer equipment that worked with him flawlessly. And it didn’t even feel strange any more, it was actually… it was nice. Damn but it was nice.

Clint would drag him away for lunch and sometimes Steve would come too and god – they were just so _funny_. Clint would bait Steve all the time but Steve was witty too and always managed to zing him back at least once or twice and they treated him – fuck. They treated him like _one of the guys_. Bruce had never been one of the guys before. It was nice, too.

He would go back to the lab and wait for Tony to blown in, cutting out of the office early, peering over everything he’d done and expounding upon it and talking talking _talking_ like he always did. His eyes would light up and he would grin and he was a colleague again, an equal, among another intellectual who valued his opinion and challenged him to think differently and damn if that wasn’t nice too.

Sometimes Tony would cook dinner – sometimes Pepper would. Sometimes Thor would join them and then the whole team would try to come. Every night was different but every night was wonderful because he wasn’t alone. Fuck – he was _never_ alone any more and it was nice but it was also so – so _loud_.

Everything was so loud now, he could hardly think. People talking, people in his space, in his life. People in the places of his heart he’d emptied long ago and it was just – it was just _so much_.

And he couldn’t get out of the shower.

Fuck but he loved them, he did. He loved every single one of them but he couldn’t breathe any more, he couldn’t live like this – under the weight of these heavy emotions.

The water was still hot, his lungs were still heavy and the air was caught all weird in his chest and it hurt. Bruce knew if he left the confines of this tile palace he’d snap at Natasha, tell her he couldn’t stand to hear her hum one more time, that it was driving him crazy. He’d stare at the computers and want to put his fist through them, throw the expensive chair across the room – it was too nice, too indulgent, he didn’t need it, he didn’t _want_ it… But that wasn’t exactly true. He didn’t deserve it. Then he would stone face Clint and Steve, wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t even look at them because how could he? He wasn’t one of _them_. And Tony? Tony would get it worst of all. He should go back to working with people who’s ideas mattered, give his money and time to people who needed it more, people who were better than him. Why did he even invite him here? Couldn’t Tony see that he was _miserable_?

A sob escaped his lips but he clamped down hard. Then it was too obvious, too easy to tell that he was crying. It wasn’t just water running down his face.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He wanted this, he wanted _all_ of this – so why couldn’t he be happy? Why did he constantly feel like he needed to escape?


	2. Comfort

Bruce was on the verge of sleep when the door slid open and he blinked at the book he’d been staring at in momentary confusion, the disorientation of being ripped from the cloying tendrils of dreams making it difficult to place where he was. Still his mind would wander through a thousand different scenarios — missions quarters, crumbling apartments in Dubai, Mexico City, outside Johannesburg, dorm rooms and campus apartments paid for by stipends, a little bedroom in the back of a ranch house in disrepair. 

But this room was one he should’ve been more accustomed to by now, sleek and clean and free of any personal artifacts from any part of his life before this room. Not that he minded that exactly — some things weren’t worth remembering. 

His eyes found their way squinting to the light and he saw a dark figure in the doorway, waving a hand over the pad to signal the door to slide shut once more. And then it was immediately apparent by the blue glow through the thin undershirt who it was. 

“Hey, I —” Bruce started, voice rough around the edges, dying as his eyes readjusted to the darkness and he saw the seriousness set in Tony’s shoulders, the defeated note on his face.

He had come into town quite unexpectedly and then spent his day in his own lab, only giving Bruce a tight smile when they passed each other in the hall, even despite Bruce’s obvious shock to see him there. And now he was here, in his room.

Bruce’s brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Tony peel his shirt from his shoulders, discarding it carelessly on the floor, presenting his toned abs and muscled shoulders in a way that made Bruce feel immediately uncomfortable. He was in nothing more than a small pair of sleep shorts himself with a sheet thrown over his hips but he was constantly hot and in no way body-conscious at this point in his life. So the crawling feeling beneath his skin was disorienting — and he knew it wasn’t from embarrassment.  

“Vetrov.”

That was all Tony had to say and Bruce immediately understood. That mission was a total fuck up and they spent two days in a cave in the middle of fuck-all-nowhere with no tech huddled up against one another for warmth until SHIELD tracked them down and extracted them. Luckily Bruce naturally ran warm but still. It was less than pleasant. 

Yet they rarely talked about it after the fact as after all, it was a little awkward for two dudes to talk about the time they spent two days wrapped around each other — strictly platonic, of course.

He didn’t say anything then as Tony slid into bed next to him, unable to look him in the eyes as he moved up against his body. Bruce shifted to accommodate him, allowing him to pillow his head against his shoulder the way they had in Russia, one of Tony’s arms thrown over his waist as he shamefully snuggled in close.

Bruce swallowed hard and was thankful for so many years practicing keeping his heart rate under control or surely Tony would’ve heard it thudding hard against his ribs. Because this wasn’t like Russia, not at all. Here there were no cold or hunger pangs to keep his wayward emotions at bay.

With cautious fingers he fought to keep from trembling Bruce stroked a hand through Tony’s hair, messy from was he’d assumed was quite a lot of tossing and turning in his own bed but it was also soft in it’s stubborn refusal to lay down. And despite himself or what he would’ve expected, Bruce found himself relaxing as his breathing synced with Tony’s and Tony’s warmth multiplied his own.

“If there’s anything —” he started, his voice barely a whisper, but Tony cut him off, momentary tension flooding his muscles in a way that was impossible to miss.

“Just this,” he murmured back, voice muffled by Bruce’s own skin and for a minute he paused, wanting so badly to reciprocate the hug, hold him tightly and kiss his forehead and let him know that it was okay…

But he didn’t. And he couldn’t. Whatever it was that drew Tony from the house he shared with Pepper to the tower he didn’t know but then again, he didn’t need to. Nothing was asked of him but to be there and Bruce knew intimately the desire for a sympathetic warm body to hold. 

So he didn’t ask any questions in return, just held his friend and gently stroked his hair as Tony was finally able to sleep. 


	3. Help

The door clicked open. He hadn’t glanced at the hallway cams in at least five minutes and Tony cursed his preoccupation as a few seconds too late he brought his fingers together to kill the elemental projection.

“Tony?”

He turned in contrapposto, attempting nonchalance despite the fact that he was standing in the middle of a damn near empty room feet from his physical monitors, and grinned.

“Hey Brucey. Lunch?”

Bruce’s sideye could be wicked intense when he wanted it to be and Tony tried not to squirm.

“That’s why  _I’m_  here,” Bruce answered, the emphasis making Tony quite sure he wasn’t going to get out of this without a game of at least twenty questions. That was the inherent problem with having a roommate/friend/maybe-more-than-just-friends friend that was so much like him — he could guess exactly what Bruce was thinking. And what Bruce was thinking right then was ‘what was that awesome light display I just missed that Tony closed awfully fucking fast because I’m pretty damn sure I want to know about THAT.’

“It’s just a stupid puzzle my dad left me, no big deal.” He tried to deflect with truthful if relatively insignificant and intentionally misleading information — but of course it didn’t work. The look on Bruce face went from passive curiosity to blatant interest. Shit. 

“Your dad?” Bruce asked and Tony wondered if he could figure out how to install trap door floors like in cartoons where he could just ask JARVIS to boot him from the situation, the floor would open up beneath him, and he would just disappear. Yeah. Mental note. The tower definitely needed more of that.

“Yes, you know, the man who donated half my DNA." Oh, that was smooth, Tony criticized himself – no bitterness there.

He watched as Bruce folded his arms across his chest and leaned back a little. Classic Bruce pose for 'I’m going to settle in right here until you explain everything.’

"Okay okay whatever.” Tony expanded his hand, causing the swirling blue projections to cast across the room once more and he heard an audible little gasp as Bruce took it in.

Bruce stepped forward so that he was nearly hip to hip with Tony and Tony watched his face, the glow of the projection reflecting in his glasses and casting weird shapes across his face as he studied the pattern. It was dumb but this was personal and the fact that Bruce was being so careful as his eyes moved about the display… He swallowed down the thickness in his throat. 

“When I walked in here I thought it was astral, but now I can see that it’s clearly elemental,” Bruce said, tapping one finger against his chin the way he was wont to do while he was processing some thought. “But it’s not a known element – at least, you’ve not published a paper on it yet.”

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. He hated publishing anyway but he definitely wasn’t publishing this.

“I think dad’s 'entrepreneurial spirit’ would object to publication,” Tony muttered as he heard the click of Bruce’s tongue – his tell-tale 'aha!’ moment.

“This is what you used to replace the palladium in the arc reactor,” he stated and Tony nodded, his stomach doing a little somersault as he watched the fleeting grin of success cross Bruce’s face. “I guess he just didn’t have the ability to physically manifest it at the time he discovered it?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed on a sigh. “Who knows what he could’ve been if he’d lived during this era.” Obviously a better, smarter man than he was. He had needed Howard Stark to show him the way, just like he always did. He could never escape the weight of his father’s shadow. 

Bruce just waved a dismissive hand to that negative conjecture. “He could never be Iron Man.”

Tony grimaced. He had a feeling his father would be less than impressed to learn that his son flew around in a metal suit risking his own life in battle. Although he wasn’t sure thanks to Obadiah, if he based his understanding of his father on the company he’d inherited, Howard would have rather let other people die for him than to risk his own skin. He would’ve never degraded himself or his pristine image by becoming Iron Man.

So yeah, Bruce was probably right. He could never  _be_  Iron Man. Because he was better than that. Because he was a visionary, a game changer, a political maven, a – 

“It’s beautiful,” Bruce murmured, his soft voice dragging Tony out of his thoughts for a brief moment – much to Tony’s irritation. “I’m standing inside of your heart.”

And then, just when Tony thought that he couldn’t be more frustrated, Bruce changed his entire frame of reference and he turned his eyes back towards the projection, viewing it in a new light. 

Despite himself, his father had given him back his life, had protected him and allowed him to continue on, to don his suit and undo some of the harm that had been done in their name. He might have been a needlessly esoteric ass about it, but he had known that Tony would be smart enough to figure it out. He left him a piece of his legacy to carry on, entrusted him with it, and now Tony carried that legacy around with him in his chest every day. Despite  _himself_ , he carried a piece of his father with him in his heart. And maybe he could never forgive him, maybe he would always have unanswered questions, but there was something about that that eased the burden just a little.

He turned his eyes back to Bruce then, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Bruce contemplate the element, totally unaware of the revelatory nature of his comment. That was Bruce though, so unassuming about his words outside of the lab, so the opposite of his father. There was a lot to be said for that. Tony couldn’t have trusted just anyone to see this, the very make-up of what kept him alive. But Bruce? He could trust Bruce. He knew that from the moment they met. Because Bruce wasn’t used to be being trusted – and he would do anything to maintain that trust.

“Beautiful, eh?” Tony asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, and as Bruce met his eyes Tony could swear he was blushing. 

“Well,” Bruce started, but then stopped and seemed to give in. “It  _is_.”

And then Tony leaned in and kissed him, gentle and slow, feeling the warmth of his mouth and the nervous little touch of his tongue as it reached out for him. It was just a little kiss but then Tony knew that Bruce was trusting him too – that such intimacy was not natural for him and that he was trusting him not to turn away from the monster he saw inside himself. Tony wanted to be worthy of his trust. Tony wanted…

“Thank you,” he said quietly, pulling his face away just enough to study Bruce’s cautious eyes and hear his shallow breathing. 

“For what?” he asked, breathless, and there was only one thing he could say, one response, the one thing Bruce wanted desperately and the one thing he thought himself completely incapable of.

“Helping.”


	4. Stars

Bruce drug himself naked through the grass in a half crouch crawl trying desperately to speed his way forward to the place where a gleaming hunk of red and gold fell from the night sky without attracting any more attention to their location. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, making his heart pound so loud he heard nothing but the suffocating sound of it in his ears as he moved. The whole mission was a shit show but if Tony was hurt — if Tony was hurt he’d never forgive himself.

After what felt like a year but was realistically only a few minutes Bruce found him, laying on his back in an indention of his own design, suit steaming and arc reactor flickering. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as he crawled over to it, eyes darting across the alloy, unsure where to begin and scared to touch it because of how hot it must be after falling through the atmosphere.

But thankfully he didn’t have to wait long before every worst case scenario and all his fears faded away as the hood on the suit slid open and Tony was staring up at him, face pale and stricken but eyes shining with excitement and mirth. Bruce exhaled a huge breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and suddenly they were both laughing — huge, shaking laughs. All that stress, ask that tension and fear, all of it falling away with each contraction and then, suddenly, Bruce leaned forward and they were kissing.

Kissing because god he was just so thankful Tony was alive and how else could he show his appreciation for that? For him?

It was fierce and needy and Bruce wanted to twist his fingers through his hair and drag him closer, closer, so close their bodies were like one thing but he couldn’t and damn it was a shame. This was it, the only moment they would have, because once they were back at the tower it would be business as usual – just Tony and Bruce, best friends, nothing to see there but… Maybe it was time to reevaluate that policy. Bruce couldn’t take much more of this.

They were panting when Bruce reluctantly withdrew, oxygen deprived from adrenaline and laughter and making out and Tony looked at him, staring into his eyes, something in them asking if he was okay and Bruce’s lips quirked up just a little – confirmation. And Tony spoke a breathless command to JARVIS to relay their coordinates to HQ before his suit died and Bruce flopped down on the grass next to him, utterly exhausted.

He was sure they looked hilarious, a naked man laying there next to one encased in armor, but he could only grin a little as he drew in deep, labored breaths. Fuck. He was getting too old for this shit.

But as the sweat cooled on his body and he stared up the stars he thought – maybe it wasn’t so bad. He felt pretty damn alive right now, whole body humming with the thrill of it. Tony was there by his side, staring up at the same sky, also very alive and that was good. It was beautiful tonight and he got to see the stars with a man he loved and honestly? That was pretty rare for him so might as well appreciate the moment he was given, even if the timing could’ve been a little fucking better.

“Beautiful view,” Tony murmured and Bruce hummed an affirmation, amused by the way it seemed Tony was reading his mind.

But when he glanced over in Tony’s direction he realized that Tony had been staring at him the whole time and that was… His eyes slid back to the sky and he was eternally grateful for the darkness to mute his ridiculous blush. And yet still he heard Tony chuckle.


	5. Over

Tony was good at talking. He’d talked and talked and talked, wheedled, convinced, argued… The past 12 hours were filled with questions because while Tony could easily be a never ending fount of verbosity, Bruce by contest said nothing. Nothing.  
  
And now Tony stood across the room from him, watching him pack a bag. It wasn’t the first time — Bruce was a runner, he was always running — but it was the last time. The last time.  
  
God but the finality of those words as they rattled across his brain… And worse? There was nothing left to say.  
  
Tony hadn’t cried — yet. But his throat felt raw from talking and his brain felt foggy like he had been and he wasn’t paying enough attention because this was the last time he was — the last time he was going to see Bruce… like this. In his home. Surrounded by his things. Where he could keep and protect him. Where he could — where he could love him.  
  
It was impossible. Impossible to imagine this space without him here. But nothing he said would matter. Nothing he said ever did.  
  
And so he stepped forward, right up next to him, and Bruce didn’t even look at him. So he took Bruce’s face in his hands, gently turning it, begging him to look and although he resisted, their eyes finally met. Tony hadn’t thought he could see sadness as deep as his own until he looked into Bruce’s eyes.  
  
He breathed his name like a prayer — not “baby” or “buddy” or “big guy” or any of the other pet names he endured for Tony’s amusement — no, just his name, and watched Bruce’s eyes flicker in the dim light before he kissed him. His last plea.  
  
And god, if he didn’t try, if it didn’t feel as perfect as it ever felt to be kissing him. What had changed? Tony had no answer. His warmth, his smell, his taste, the feel of him — it was all still the same. It was all still perfect.  
  
He tried to show that to Bruce, he really did, but… But Bruce stopped kissing him first and Tony had to reluctantly withdraw. Fingers falling from curly hair he loved to run them through, creating nothing but space between them. Always space.  
  
“Please,” Bruce whispered, begged, and Tony hated that Bruce thought he had to beg him for anything. “Let me go.”  
  
The lump in his throat became insurmountable and Tony swallowed, tried to will away the flood that threatened to drown him because he could do that, he  _would_  do that. The first words Bruce had spoken since he said he was leaving for good and Tony would give him anything he wanted — anything. It just… He never thought it would be this.


	6. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly inspired by ashnapalm‘s work Straight Through.
> 
> Mentioned canon compliant torture.

She wasn’t asleep, but he knew that, wouldn’t expect it. But her body was still and soft, muscles relaxed, breathing even, and that was enough. Her trust was enough. 

Firm but tentative his fingers traced up the the skin from the bottom of her hip to the top without hesitation, straight across the thick, long scar where she had been tortured with a hot iron in that shitty little hovel in France.

_It didn’t hurt so much – I was angry, more than anything. Anger helps._

_But anger gives you away._

_She smiles, briefly, just a flash and then it’s gone._

_Only if you show it._

He thinks he can hear her sigh but he’s not sure. Of course, he’s never really sure but she’s still here and his fingers move upward, towards the planes of her back, across a volley of pockmarks from gravel removed with tweezers in an abandoned apartment in Budapest. 

He had been there, seen her take the fall off the bike at fifty miles an hour and twist up onto her feet without flinching to fire a gun and that was all he could think about as he removed the grit from her side two hours later. Well, that and her miraculous ability not to flinch at the burn of rubbing alcohol in an open wound. 

_I didn’t notice._

_You hit the fucking ground._

_He thinks maybe she grins because of the way her voice sounds but by the time he looks up he’s missed it._

_Hmm – maybe._

Her back bears a big piece of scar tissue. For a long time it was a mystery to him and he didn’t ask about it, didn’t touch it when he fucked her from behind, but now he ran a thumb over the smooth patch with jagged edges. 

In the damp darkness of a underground cellar in Mexico City while they were laying low she told him she had been branded in the Ukraine in the middle of a mission. The symbol would’ve blown her cover so upon her escape she scrapped it off with a straight blade and all but prayed it wouldn’t get infected. 

_It was nothing, really. It had to be done._

_Yeah but –_

_There was no light other than through a crack in the door up a stairwell ten feet away so she pressed a finger to his lips and when she talks he thinks he hears her lips curl._

_I’m here now, aren’t I?_

With gentle fingers he brushes the hair away from her face and down across her back, wishing that it meant something, that touching her delicately – the way she should’ve always been touched, the way she deserved to be touched – would somehow erase the years of punishment adorning her body… but that was ridiculous. 

Still, he tried. He reached around her body, pulled her close to his chest, held her there with his nose buried up against her neck, the fingers of his hand splayed across her chest, across the delicate rib cage that took such abuse to protect her heart.

_That’s the part._

_She’d say it and she’d pause and she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t smile this time._

_And he wouldn’t dare interrupt._

_That’s the part that hurts._


	7. Dependents

Sometimes our lives wander away from us. 

A path must be chosen and so you choose but then a new one appears and somehow the choice seems wrong. If only you could backtrack and go a different way… but you can’t. You’re only glimpsing through the trees.

He would never say she was a mistake – because she wasn’t. None of the women in his life were mistakes. But sometimes, when he looked at  _her_ …

_She brushed the hair from her face and repositioned her hand on the baby. Her eyes glanced his way, the smallest uptick of her lips, barely a smile but then he knew her so well. She turned her face back to his child, serious, with eyebrows raised as the child reached out for long red hair._

It was nothing he could define but there was this feeling in his gut like he’d jumped the tracks on the wrong timeline and it just wasn’t right. A deep kind of uneasiness that was pervasive, that touched every fiber of his being and yet – he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

 _She moved through the kitchen like she’d been there a thousand times, so comfortable and calm, humming to herself as she spooned sugar into tea. Part of it was who she was, a natural defense mechanism, but then… She turned, looked over at him, perched behind the table, more awkward in a space that was supposed to be his own than she was, and he saw it – that genuine ghost of a grin. Goading him. What’s your problem, Clint? This is_ your _home, after all._

And it was. She wasn’t wrong. But this – this was supposed to be a haven, somewhere safe, and he brought her here and now everything – it was all fucked up. All he could see were her eyes…

_She looked up at him. It was simple, they were on the porch, she was tired – he could see it – was merely communicating that she was going to bed but there was that momentary pause, that little thing where his heart kinda stopped, and damn. It was like there were stars in her eyes. But he was pretty sure it was just a reflection. Or that only he could see them._

There are times when our lives wander away from us. Times where he thinks he’s going to die and damn – that was unfair to his wife, his children and maybe… maybe they did kinda seem like a mistake, then. Because his life wandered away from him too easily. It wasn’t fair. They weren’t mistakes, but then.

And she would say something about how there were people that needed him as she pulled him to safety. There were – he knew it. But sometimes he thought… life would be easier if there weren’t.


	8. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by this AWESOME prompt from SeekingSquake (which I hope I did justice):  
> AU where Bruce was sick and the general was stuck in traffic or something so Betty does the experiment on herself and is turned into a hulk. The military is after her because "That monster is the general's daughter" and after Bruce because "You did this to her" so they go on the run together. He still learns all the anger management techniques because she's too impatient to, and SHIELD still needs him to find the cube but they also need her because she’s one of the best when it comes to biology and we have a resident alien/God and also you’re a gamma monster so we’d rather have you close.

Betty’s eyes are blown, her skin pale, her breathing so heavy that her whole jaw shakes with it and Bruce can’t blame her because he’s scared, too. Scared and guilty and god – so many emotions were running through him he felt like a live wire and his hand trembled as he reached out to touch her. He hesitates – scared that the confusion, the fear, the chaos within him would leap from his body and strike her down, turn her back into that – that _thing_. But she flinched back from him, sensing his fear, and he felt even worse.

“Betty,” he whispered, afraid that if he reached for her again she’d run off – disappear – thinking him insincere.

Fuck – if only he’d been there. She was so goddamn ballsy, so impatient. Didn’t see consider the ramifications? Even if the experiment didn’t end in… _that_ – whatever _that_ was – her father would’ve lost his fucking mind at how impulsive she’d been. Now? Fuck. They were so fucked.

“Betty,” he repeated, a little stronger this time. “We have to get out of here.”

“You’re mad at me,” she moaned, her voice shaking and she hid her face behind her hair, tilting it away from him and towards the wall, trying to shrink into the half of it left standing thanks to… her. It? Bruce didn’t know. And if Bruce didn’t know what she was…

His mouth tightened and he leaned forward a little from his crouched position, stroking the hair from her cheek and watching the way she swayed towards the touch. Guilt plunged cold and hard down through his gut. Betty, Betty, my brilliant, beautiful (and brash, so brash) love – why did you have to do this to us?

“No,” he lied softly, guilt plunging cold and hard down through his gut as he reached out and stroked the hair from her cheek. “No, no, never mad.”

***

It was so hot it felt like the walls were sweating with them in the little top floor apartment in Rio. Bruce liked it – the heat – remembered too many cold winters and the warmth was always comforting. Betty hated it. He watched it in the sweat that dripped down her face, pooled at the little dip at the base of her neck, ran down between her breasts. Watched it in the barely veiled impatient set of her jaw, the way she glared at everything.

“Breathe.” 

He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she wanted to throw the nearest object into the side of his head every time he spoke the word but Bruce didn’t care. It would help. He knew it would help.

She inhaled in an especially exaggerated way and he opened his eyes, raising an exacerbated brow. While Betty had always been impatient, it was definitely worse since the... the incident. But that’s why this training was so important.

“You do understand –”

“Get me out of this literal hell hole and –”

“Betty.”

They’d had this argument a million times. Her mood would improve if she wasn’t here, he knew that, but it was safe here, and she was incredibly naive to think they could just waltz back into the United States with no ramifications. Of course she didn’t want to believe it, but her father would destroy her. Bruce was under no illusions about the cruelty parents could enact upon their children.

Betty swiped an arm across her forehead, bangs plastered up at an angle with sweat, and huffed out an impatient sigh.

“This is a waste of time,” she said as she stood and stalked back and forth across the box that was their apartment. “A cure is the better long term solution.”

Now Bruce sighed and relaxed into the lotus pose, trying not be frustrated with her but – a cure? Really? They had studied her extensively, pored over bloodwork and labs together, how could she not have come to the same obvious conclusion?

“It could take months, years,” he reminded her quietly as she poured poorly refrigerated water into a glass at the row of cabinets covered in equipment that was supposed to be their kitchen.

She didn’t say anything. They both knew she wasn’t that patient.

***

Nimble fingers tugged at the cuff of his sleeve as Betty leaned into his space, warily observing the deck of the helicarrier as they followed Natasha across the vast space and down into the command center.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.

The problem was that Bruce agreed. But they had been through this already. They were the foremost experts in gamma radiation and maybe – it was a long shot, sure, but maybe – SHIELD could help them too.

“Breathe,” he teased back and caught the twitch of her lips, felt her ease up beside him and her fingers fall back to her side.

At the very least, SHIELD could protect her from the reach of her father. Bruce knew about his experiments, knew how he wanted her back – the crux, the “missing link” of his research – and they fought over it constantly. Now, to be back in US waters, to be working with a huge government backed complex with a jail cell created especially to “neutralize” her… it wasn’t only Betty who was nervous. They’d spent the last two years entwined around one another, so close the line between love and hate was blurred so bad Bruce never knew what he was going to feel when he woke up beside her in the morning but fuck if he was going to let _anyone_ hurt her. She might’ve been the monster but he wasn’t to be underestimated as a sidekick.

Bruce felt the pressure intimately, hated the way everyone was looking at them, at her, waiting, wondering… Knew how it would be affecting her, how the casual glance of a stranger can be amplified in her mind, send her into a threatening panic.

“Doctors,” Fury – at least who Bruce assumed was Fury – greeted them, standing and reaching out a hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Bruce shook firmly, trying to impart some confidence on Betty who offered her hand much less enthusiastically.

“Sure, yeah,” he replied, glancing back at Betty, watching her retreat into herself. “Look – how long do we have to be here?”

Fury’s eye moved between them and Bruce knew what he was thinking – she was technically unnecessary, a liability even, but he wanted to keep an eye on her, wanted to contain her. Nothing made Bruce want to get her out of there faster than that look.

“Once we get our hands on the Tesseract, you’re in the clear.”

Bruce doubted that – but he’d hold him to it.

***

“You know, you should come by Stark Towers sometime,” Tony was saying, an unusually open offer to both of them that Betty was outright ignoring. “Top ten floors, all R&D. You’d love it, it’s candy land.”

“We don’t really… _do_ big cities,” Bruce replied, attempting to keep his eyes on the data streaming in, dismissing him, but it was hard when he knew what Betty really wanted.

“Well, I promise a stress free environment. No tension. No surprises,” Tony was saying, moving around the room in that self-confident swagger of his before jabbing Betty in the side with some kind of electrical prod. 

“Ow!” she exclaimed as Bruce’s temper flared and Tony squinted his eyes, looking at her closely.

“Nothing?”

“Hey!” Steve shouted as he walked in and Bruce’s defensive rage grew but he centered himself on Betty. “Are you nuts?”

“You really have got a lid on it, haven’t you?” Tony asked. “What’s your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?”

Betty shifted her face so that her hair fell across it, hiding her face from them all, but Bruce noted the upward tilt of her lips, the barely veiled smile, and immediately he relaxed. He wasn’t worried about her going off – they wouldn’t have agreed to come if she didn’t ‘really have a lid on it’ – but no one… joked with her like that. Everyone was too busy being scared shitless, building cages to contain her. Even Bruce was guilty of treating her with kid gloves, if he was honest with himself.

“Is everything a joke to you?” Steve was posturing when Bruce turned his eyes back to the other man.

“Funny things are,” Tony defended openly.

“Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn’t funny,” Steve shot back, turning to Betty in forced remorse after he’d said it. “No offense, Dr. Ross.”

She stilled her hands above the computer interface and looked up pointedly at Steve, Bruce more than familiar with that violent calm frustration.

“No, it’s all right,” Betty said smoothly. “I wouldn’t have come on board if I couldn’t handle… difficulties.”

“You’re tiptoeing, big man,” Tony was saying but Bruce met Betty’s eyes, sliding his hand across the table to touch their fingertips together. “You need to strut.”

She looked up at him with those clear blue eyes and she didn’t even need to say anything, Bruce knew. He hadn’t seen that look on her in a long time – positivity, maybe even optimism. Someone wasn’t afraid. Someone was on their side.

***

Bruce stared down at the city thirty floors below, the city they’d avoided for years, the city they saved only days ago. He took a sip of coffee more expensive then he’d maybe ever had and buried his toes in the plush carpeting. This… was going to be hard to turn down.

He heard Betty shift in the bed Tony offered – practically demanded, really – that they take for a few days to sort out their next move. And Bruce had watched Betty fall in love with every long neglected luxury as Tony opened his lab, his office, his home to them. Hot showers, air conditioning, any food they could possibly imagine. Easy camaraderie. Trust.

Walking across the room he poured her a cup of coffee and brought it over to the nightstand, setting down next to her on the bed. For a long time she didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just watched him watching the steam rise from the cup in his hands until it was cold and he was just staring at brown liquid. They both knew what had to be said but neither wanted to say it.

“You like him,” she finally said, sitting up and running her hands through her hair. 

Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes at the accusation. “So do you.”

Betty hummed an assent as she played absently with the comforter, picking at lint that wasn’t there and wishing she could deny the charge.

“I’ve never seen the hulk – er, _you_ – save anyone like that,” Bruce pointed out, remembering the shock, bordering on jealousy, he felt as she caught Tony out of midair and brought him safely to the ground. 

“Yeah,” she admitted with an uncomfortable huff as silence fell over them once more. 

“We’ve been on the run a long time,” he finally said. “And that wouldn’t really change. We wouldn’t be ‘free’ here.”

“You’ve seen his labs,” she returned, curling one knee up to her chest so she could rest her chin on it and look at him. “If there is a cure…”

Bruce couldn’t maintain eye contact when she started talking about the cure he still didn’t believe existed. But she did have a point – even if there wasn’t a cure, any research they did would bear results light years quicker here with access to advanced technology.

“I’m just a man,” Bruce said, bringing up the more pressing issue. “If there is a ‘team,’ if that idea works – I can’t follow you.” 

Betty chewed on her thumb, an anxious little habit he knew intimately. They had been physically inseparable since the incident, right up until Betty decided to join the other… _Avengers._ And she had done well, really well. It… scared him. He built so much of his life around her, helping her, that if he was done, now, then what was left?

“I know,” she admitted reluctantly, clearly having considered that fact before. “I know.”

Bruce sighed and pat her leg under the sheets before standing and returning to the window. Maybe it was better for him here, with a lab, where he could start doing real research again, publishing – maybe. But this wasn’t about him. It was never about him.

“The question is,” he said, speaking to the window, watching as a bus went by with a ‘powered by Stark Industries’ logo plastered to the side of it. “Can we trust him?”

Betty didn’t say anything for a long time, even though they both knew the truth. But to hear it out loud? That was another thing entirely and as she took a breath to speak, he closed his eyes and wished he didn’t have to hear it.

“I think it’s too late.”


	9. Bedsharing

Steve could practically feel the reverberation of anxiety pouring from Bucky, his body tense and tight as a string, eyes staring straight ahead at the ceiling above like it was his damn mission. 

It felt like… Watching Bucky like that, that is, it felt like before the serum, when the anxiety was too much – or when he’d coughed himself nearly to death – and his whole chest just ached. But it was worse than that, different than that too. Because here in this “modern” world there could’ve been some cure for him, some way to stop the ache. Not now, though. Not now. 

He remembered after his mother died and he just showed up at Bucky’s that night because he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fucking stand anyone, any of the relatives that thought they knew what it was like for him to lose _her_  and how he cried on Bucky’s chest until there was nothing left. Nothing left of himself to reflect the nothing left of his life and he hoped he’d die right then and join her. 

But when he woke up Bucky’s arms were still around him and there was something about the optimism of a new day because his first thought was that he still had Bucky. He still had God and his mother looking down on him and it was bad, yeah, it was still bad but she always said God didn’t pick and choose at random – He had a reason for taking her and a reason for leaving him and Steve knew it was his responsibility to live up to that expectation. 

He never really thanked Bucky for the string of weeks he let him spend there in his bed in that shitty little apartment of his in the bad side of town, tucked up against him. It was too awkward to broach as kids with fragile egos but now he wished there was damn near anything he could do to reciprocate. But it was he who was the problem and Bucky wouldn’t yield an inch.

“We’ve known each other for how long, Buck?” he tried, his voice soft in the absolute silence of the room – but he only felt the tension within his friend increase with the question… and with it the vise around his own heart. 

Carefully, so carefully his fingers reached across the bed, the slide of skin on cotton intentionally audible so that he didn’t catch Bucky unaware, and gently the back of his hand pressed up against the back of Bucky’s warm flesh and blood one and to his credit he managed not to flinch. But the tension in him was so intense now that Steve didn’t know how he could stand it. 

It wasn’t like he wasn’t nervous – this whole… ‘dating’ thing was weird for him too. He honestly preferred just not to think about it in any terms at all and let it grow as it would. And that seemed fine for Bucky – he was in intensive therapy to cope with the extreme amount of conditioning and PTSD he suffered from and slow worked well for him too. But when the therapist suggested this… 

Steve thought it seemed harmless enough and was hardly any kind of step to anything sexual but he’d obviously misjudged exactly what this assignment entailed for Bucky. He wanted to stroke back his hair, kiss his temple, wrap him up in his arms and reciprocate the favor Bucky had done for him so many nights at twenty-two but…

“I can leave,” he whispered instead, giving Bucky the easy out no one ever seemed to give him.

Suddenly Bucky’s hand was clutching his so tight the constriction in his chest was all but forgotten.

“Right – giving up isn’t your thing,” Steve joked to ease the severity and desperation of Bucky’s action and instead moved closer as a promise that he wouldn’t leave.

“It’s okay, really,” he continued, somewhat heartened that Bucky had at least given him a response, even if it wasn’t verbal. “This doesn’t have to –”

“I’ll hurt you,” Bucky bit out through clenched teeth, cutting him off, and Steve stared at the outline of his face in the darkness, the way his eyes shut tight against his cheekbones and his jaw clenched. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve worried about that,” Steve murmured, undecided if it would unsettle him or be a comfort as the words left his lips. 

“In my sleep I – I can’t,” he stuttered out, taking a deep breath that wasn’t very deep at all, clearly working to calm himself and failing. “I can’t control myself. If I dream…”

Bucky paused with no intention of continuing and a soft smile formed on Steve’s lips as he slid closer still. “Then dream a good dream of me.”

There was no response from Bucky and a tiny flicker of selfish disappointment lit in the pit of Steve’s stomach – through he tried to extinguish it quickly. 

“It’s not you I’m scared to dream about,” he finally managed so quietly Steve almost missed it despite the absence of all other sound – and then he knew what pain Bucky could truly inflict upon him. 

It was impossible not to conjure up a million speculations as to the things Bucky was forced to do while he lay dormant for nearly seventy years – but Steve at least tried to silence them as he gave in to the desire to stroke back his hair, kiss his temple, wrap him up in his arms.

“Then I’ll hold you down,” he whispered as his lips brushed past Bucky’s ear.

Bucky didn’t exactly melt beneath him but his tension began to ebb – the act of admitting his fears likely helping more even than the acceptance Steve offered – though his jaw was still set in stubborn defiance. 

“I guess if anyone could it would be you,” Bucky grumbled, sounding reluctant to give in. 

“Maybe the Hulk,” Steve offered and Bucky blew out an aggravated huff against the left-field suggestion. 

“Maybe.”

Silence resumed but it was far more comfortable than it had been since Bucky joined him here after his shower. 

“I don’t have to sleep,” Steve offered after several long moments, letting his nose find it’s way into the crook of Bucky’s neck, grateful for the familiarity it offered after so long feeling lost – not knowing the world he now inhabited or the only man who was left of his.

“Neither do I,” Bucky replied – and they lay there together, perfectly still, grateful just for the sound of the other breathing, until the sun came up. 


End file.
